


last efforts

by Hnikkar



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: blood cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 08:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5084950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hnikkar/pseuds/Hnikkar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pre series beginning, beth meets up with a clone to get info then returns home to paul. i tagged it beth/paul becus their relationship is in it not becus i ship it becus i do nOt.. i may continue this but probs not</p>
            </blockquote>





	last efforts

**Author's Note:**

> titles are hard

“Okay.” Beth made a note in her notebook. “I think we’re almost done, there was just one more thing—”

The woman in front of her, Jessica, the woman she had been planning the meeting of for a short while now, interrupted Beth mid-sentence, with a rattle that shuddered through her body, and wormed its way through her throat and out of her mouth, splattering blood across the table, all over the long sought after documents and information between the two women. Beth shut her eyes, feeling as if she were swaying for a moment, the other woman’s sniffling and fresh sobbing muffled briefly. The thought of the blood slowly eating through the papers brought her back to reality. Beth retrieved a tissue from her pocket and mopped it up.

“I’m sorry”s bled from behind Jessica’s hand.

“It’s okay.”

The blood rose and flowered through the tissues. Beth looked at the woman in front of her, openly sobbing, a hand over her mouth to cover any residue of blood, more shameful than tears. Beth reminded herself it was her job – a job she did well – to sit in front of people in states like this, to stay professional, to stabilize the situation and continue with questioning. She looked at Jessica and saw herself staring back, hands gripping the sink staring through the bathroom mirror, thrown up pills slipping in lumps through the sink plug hole, promising a trip to buy drain cleaner.

Beth shook her head. “It’s okay,” she repeated.

Jessica quietened down. Beth was relieved.

“I wanted to ask you to contact Katja Obinger. You’ll find her and the details on the photocopy I gave you. I’d appreciate it if you could describe your symptoms and a timeline of how they developed. I’m sure she’d welcome the information very much.” Beth paused. “She’s afraid.”

 

When they were done Beth had offered to drive her to the hospital. Jessica refused. She couldn’t afford it. She had cancelled her insurance months ago, learning her illness was incurable and unique. If she was going to die, she would die with money.

 

When Beth got home Paul was making noodles.

“Have fun?”

Beth sat down. “Yes, thank you.”

“How’s Chantelle?”

“She’s good. Still fighting to get Jordan into that school, though.”

Paul laughed. It didn’t sound right. It never did anymore. His eternal positivity glared and bit at her through his perfect square teeth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ve told her I’m sure the local state kindergarten will be fine, but each time she waves me off.”

“You know Chantelle, she won’t accept anything but the best.”

“Yeah.”

Paul dished the noodles into two bowls.

They ate in silence for a short while.

Beth swallowed. “Paul?”

“Yeah?” he didn’t look up from his food.

“If I was hospitalised, would you stay with me?”

He looked up and glared at her, for real this time, venomous and hateful. She shrank slightly, on the inside; the shape her skin made was still intact. She rubbed two of her fingertips together. Still plump.

“You just stay away from those bottles. You just take what I give you and keep going to your doctor and you’ll be fine, all right? You’ll be fine.” For her to be fine was an order, not a hopeful prediction.

She was silenced. She didn’t bother to correct him, to explain that wasn’t what she was talking about this time.

Beth nodded. Pauls face softened, the last few moments erased from the history told in the creases of his cheeks, the corners of his eyes.

Paul made her feel like a child. It made her almost miss the horrible experience of talking to yet another clone, watching her own face wretch and cough up blood, a count of coughs before death. Then she had been in control; she was interviewing, guiding. The life she had created for herself, as a detective, shrouded her in control, more and more as she rose through the ranks. Control was a sign of success; professionalism. The more her mental health deteriorated, the less control she had. The more Paul controlled. The more she let him, slipping from suffocating success. In a way she relished it. She didn’t have to choose. Paul gave her food and she ate it. She knew she was falling, not climbing anymore, but there was some relief in falling, falling into Paul’s arms, and having him guide her limbs where they needed to go.

He wouldn’t leave, no matter how much he wanted to. She knew this now.


End file.
